Legally Dean
by Kenophobia
Summary: Dean is pissed when Sam leaves for Stanford without saying goodbye. Looks like he'll have to find some way of getting his brother's attention. Inspired by Legally Blonde.
1. Chapter 1

To say that Dean was pissed when Sam took off for Stanford would have been a serious understatement. It wasn't so much the whole going away to university thing in itself, that Dean couldn't begrudge his little brother, it was the way he did it. He didn't ask Dean to come with him, he didn't even say goodbye. Dean got home one night from a supply run to find their father flat-out drunk on the couch, grumbling something about Sam being "gone". By the time he sobered up enough for Dean to get the full story out of him, it was too late to go after his prodigal little brother. He tried calling of course, but Sam never answered. The overgrown bastard seemed to be determined to completely cut ties with his family.

Whatever, the reason for Sam's ghosting, Dean wasn't about to take it lying down. He knew where Sam was headed, and he was going after him. Eventually. The fall semester didn't actually start for another couple months, so he had time.

Some people, including Sam, were under the misconception that Dean had left high school early because he dropped out. The truth was he had graduated early after skipping a grade in middle school. He'd never seen the need to talk about it, really, he was just glad that graduating meant more time for hunting, but now, for the first time, his unexpectedly impressive academic record might actually be relevant.

* * *

It's the first week of classes and Sam walks down the halls of one of Stanford's many stately buildings, basking in the pureness of academia. He's just come out of the last lecture of his first day and he's riding high in anticipation of the year to come. Maybe when he gets home, he'll give Dean a call and tell him about it. Sam feels bad about the way he left things with his brother.

As he wades through the sea of students in their sedate sweaters, a glimpse of brown leather suddenly jumps out at him. He does a double take and finds himself looking at the back of his brother's head as he walks down the hall a few paces ahead of Sam.

He hurries forward and grabs Dean's shoulder, turning him around in the middle of the hallway. "Dean!?" he almost yells.

Dean looks at him with an enormous smile and a look of feigned surprise. "Sammy? I totally forgot you go here."

"What are you talking about? Are you here to see me?"

"No, silly. I go here."

"You go where?" Sam asks, more confused than ever.

"Stanford" Dean answers matter of factly.

"Dean, are you trying to tell me that _you_ got into Stanford?"

"What? Like it's hard?"


	2. Chapter 2

When Sam gets back to his cramped dorm room that afternoon, he's still in a state of shock. Dean at Stanford? It just doesn't make any sense. It must be a trick, he decides eventually. Dean is here to check up on him like his usual overprotective self; he was just joking about getting accepted to Stanford. He had to be. Unfortunately, there isn't really any easy way for Sam to verify this; it's not like they posted the names of all the students online.

Eventually, he decides that he'll just have to wait and see. Dean will make his move eventually; Sam just wishes that he knew what that move would be. Will Dean try and drag him back to Dad and hunting? Well that's not going to happen. In the meantime, the best thing to do is probably just ignore him. Maybe Dean is feeling abandoned and trying to get back at Sam because of it. Best to just let him play out this whole gag of his and concentrate on his studies. Sam's thrown himself in headfirst into a full course load and because he doesn't know his major yet, he's sampling a little bit of everything. Today had been mostly political science and statistics, tomorrow is English. He's got enough on his plate without having to worry about whatever Dean is up to. His picks up his Introduction to Statistical Methods textbook, that cost him almost $200 at the university bookstore, and gets to work.

* * *

Dean throws his books on the bed of his motel room when he gets back from class. For a glorious few moments he considers blowing off studying but he knows that if he really wants to stick to Sam, he's going to have to put a little effort into this. Maybe more than a little effort. Kicking back in his chair, he pictures Sam's face from when they ran into each other in the hallway. Absolutely priceless. Newly motivated, he opens up the bootlegged copy of Statistics for Engineers and gets to work.

* * *

When Dean walks into his first English class the next morning, he can already tell things aren't going to go well. Math and Science have never been a problem for him. They're logical. English is not logical. English is a barely decipherable tangle of contradictions and context. Of all the classes he's signed up for, this is the only one that he's at all worried about. Now, to make matters worse, he's arrived only a few seconds before the start of class and the only seat left is front and centre, which thoroughly abolishes his usual plan of lounging in the back where the prof can't really see him.

With a sigh he plunks himself down between two douchey looking guys in sweaters and pulls out his notebook. He still hasn't been able to hustle up the cash to get a laptop yet and this only expounds on the contrast between himself and his classmates who are all already typing away behind screens, their faces barely visible.

When the prof walks in, it's immediately obvious to Dean that she's got a stick up her ass. She's a middle-aged woman with blonde hair in a perfectly coiffed updo, an austere skirt and jacket, and a sadistic gleam in her eye that suggests she may be related to several monsters he's killed.

"An Ivey League education" she begins pretentiously, "means that you must learn to speak and write in a new version of English. Not the broken, abused version of instant messaging that some of you may be used to, but the true version, the academic version." She turns and points to a phrase written on the blackboard before reading it aloud. "The limits of my language means the limits of my world. Does anyone know who spoke those immortal words?"

The class remains silent but someone behind Dean must raise their hand because the prof points towards the middle of the room. "You."

"Ludwig Wittgenstein" answers the all too familiar voice of his little brother.

"Very good." The prof purrs approvingly as Dean tries to stay calm. He had no idea that Sam was in this class. It makes sense, he supposes, first year English is a requirement no matter what degree program you're in, so if they were ever going to have a class together, this would be it.

Has Sam seen him? He must have, Dean came in late and sat near the front. Which means that it's too late to get out of here. He forces himself not to turn around and look; he'll just have to keep his head down and play it cool.

Too late, Dean realizes that he must have missed something during his momentary freak out because when he comes back to the moment he finds the prof standing right in front of his desk and staring down imposingly, apparently waiting for a response to something she's just said.

"Umm, sorry, could you repeat that?"

The professor titters softly. "I asked if you would please read us the first part of the assigned text."

"Oh, yeah, okay." He hastily pulls out his battered copy of King Lear and flips through it. It's just like reading to Sammy when he was little, he tries to tell himself, but soon finds that he's stumbling over the unfamiliar words and phrases.

After a few paragraphs, she decides to end his suffering, or maybe her own suffering, he's not sure. "That's enough. In future, I expect you to come to class having reviewed the readings before hand. Now you" she points at another unfortunate student "pick up where he left off and try not to butcher it."

Dean sinks sullenly back in his chair and narrowly avoids putting his feet on the desk and flipping off the professor. It's going to be a long semester.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam watches with a mix of sympathy and satisfaction as Dean is humiliated by Professor Stromwell. Well, if he's going to be a stalker and sneak into Sam's classes, then that's what he's going to get.

When the hour is over, Sam waits for his new roommate Brady out on the quad. They, and a few other guys from the dorm have plans to go hang out at the SUB together and get some studying in.

"Hey Sam, ready to get it on with Cordelia and her sisters?" Brady asks as he comes up behind Sam.

Sam laughs. In some ways Brady reminds him a little of Dean; he has the same ability to turn things that should be serious into jokes, except Dean's jokes usually don't reference Shakespeare. But then Sam accidently makes eye contact across the lawn with the real Dean and the stricken look on his brother's face sends a rush of guilt straight through Sam's joviality. He almost goes over but before he's made up his mind, Dean is already walking away. Sam turns back to Brady and lets him go.

* * *

Dean stalks angrily towards the parking lot trying not to dwell on how happy Sam looked with his new friends but not doing a very good job of it. When he arrives at the Impala, his day gets even worse as he sees that some asshole who clearly doesn't know how to park has taken the paint off the side of her rear bumper and driven away again. Probably some stupid yuppie college kid who thinks that just because his dad bought him a new Mercedes for his birthday means he's at all capable of handling it.

Since he still doesn't have a laptop, or even a phonebook, Dean has to drive around town until he finally spots a decent looking garage, then make an illegal U-turn to get to it. As he walks in, he's greeted by the familiar scent of engine grease and instantly feels more at ease. This is where he belongs, not at Stanford.

"Can I help you?" asks a worn looking man in an even more worn looking pair of coveralls.

"Yeah, some son of a bitch scraped the paint off my rear bumper. I could use some help getting the right colour match for her."

"Drive it around back and I'll take a look."

See, the thing about the Impala is, that she may be black, but she isn't just any black. She's the special kind of black that's only found at the bottom of the deepest ocean trenches and that shit has to be special ordered by a dealership or a licensed mechanic.

"I'll give you a call when it comes in" Paul the mechanic tells him.

"Yeah, thanks" Dean says with a sigh.

"You doing okay kid?" Paul asks and Dean thinks he must truly look like shit to be getting that question from a total stranger.

"Just a rough day" he answers. Then, he's not sure why, maybe it's that engine oil smell making him feel all safe and girly, but he decides to share a bit more. "I just started up at the university and now I'm thinking it might have been a mistake."

"What makes you say that?"

"I only really came cause my little brother's here but now he probably doesn't want anything to do with me."

Paul raises one bushy eyebrow at him. "You went to all the trouble of getting into an Ivey League just to see your brother? Did it ever occur to you that maybe you should just talk to him?"

"Yeah, you're probably right. Maybe I'll give him a call."

Dean doesn't call Sam. He leaves the repair shop feeling somewhat better, but the humiliation from earlier is still too fresh in his mind for him to want to face Sam. If he wants to be able to look his brother in the eye again then he's just going to have to find a way to kick English in the ass.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day goes better. Professor Callahan's Introduction to Solid Mechanics class seems far more relevant to the real world than Shakespeare. The man even offers Summer Research Grants for students who make a particularly good impression and Dean can't help imaging how much fun it would be bragging to Sam about that.

But then on Thursday, it's back to English. This time Dean manages to get there earlier and get a seat near the back which would be an improvement except for it means that he ends up spending most of the class staring at the back of Sam's head where he sits surrounded by a gaggle of new friends. Right next to Sam is the same guy who he left with after class on Tuesday and every few minutes he leans over and whispers something to Sam and Sam laughs like he's just watched a video of a kitten falling into a sink of water. Dean isn't sure which he hates more: the envy that stirs in his chest and makes him feel like he's a jilted ex-girlfriend or the smug shit eating grin on Mr. Kitten Video's face.

* * *

"So, don't forget, 8:00 at 45 Dunstan St. It's going to be a wicked party." Dean overhears Sam's new best friend saying to another frat boy wannabe as they head out of English and mulls the words over in his head. It might be nice to have a little fun. He's invited himself to plenty of college parities before and they're usually a great place to do a little hustling, and if Sam is going to be there, which seems likely, then it's going to make it even harder for Sam to keep avoiding him.

When Dean walks into the party later that night, he gets a few side glances, but no one really seems to care enough to question or even acknowledge his presence. That is until he finds the pool table. After his first curve shot people definitely start paying attention. If this were a normal hustle, he would start off hiding his skill to entice the targets to bet more money, but if this were a normal hustle, he would also be leaving town the next morning, and people tend to get antsy if they think they've been had. So, instead he gives it his all from the start. Eventually, they'll get tired of wasting their money and stop playing him, but until then he can make a few bucks and get in some practice.

He's so absorbed in wiping the floor with his latest opponent that at first, he doesn't notice when Sam wanders in with Mr. Kitten Video. When Dean does look up again, he sees Sam glaring at him from across the room. He finishes his game with as much flourish as he can and makes his way over.

"Hey little brother, I didn't know you'd be here" he says giving his trademark smirk.

Sam glowers at him petulantly.

"Little brother?" The ever-present friend elbows Sam in the side. "Dude I didn't know you had a brother in town."

"I'm Dean" he says holding out his hand.

"Brady, Sam's roommate" the other guy says, taking it. "Didn't I see you in our English class?"

"Yeah, not my subject I'm afraid. I'm in engineering."

Brady laughs. "Dude, don't I know it. I'm in computer science myself and I swear if I could permanently remove Shakespeare from the curriculum I wouldst do it in a trice. Freaks like Sam here love it though."

Dean smiles thinly, the last thing he wants is to like this guy.

"Well" says Brady, examining the inside of his red solo cup like it's a fascinating art exhibit, "I'm due for a refill. See you around Dean" he says as he gets up and wanders off.

Sam himself finally looks at Dean now, open hostility in his eyes. "What are you doing here Dean?"

"Hanging out, shooting some pool" he replies casually.

"So, you came here to hustle money off my friends" Sam accuses.

"No, I came here to have some fun; I've been busy with classes since I got here."

"When are you going to drop this act?"

"What act?" Dean demands, starting to get angry himself.

"This act where you're pretending to be taking classes. I know you didn't get into Stanford Dean, you're not smart enough." A millisecond after it leaves his mouth, Sam must realize the harshness of what he's just said, because his expression changes from anger to guilt almost instantaneously.

Dean however is far too pissed off to notice or care how Sam feels. "How long have you been embarrassed by me, Sam?" he asks and his words are quiet but as sharp as his favourite hunting knife. "I'm never going to be enough for you, am I?"

Sam blinks at him, realizing for the first time, that maybe he is embarrassed. He's been acting like a teenager who wants his mom to drop him off around the block because he's too cool to be seen getting the ride to the movies that he asked for in the first place. Before he can fully process this however, Dean has already stormed out.

* * *

When Sam staggers out of bed the next morning, slightly hung over, he finds a swath of papers shoved under his door. He picks them up and examines them blearily, the words slowly coming into focus. It's a photocopy of a Stanford class schedule, and underneath is a creased letter. A letter on university letterhead and containing the words _Dean Winchester _and _congratulations _and _accepted. _"Holy shit" says Sam as he drops back on the bed and stares at them some more.


	5. Chapter 5

When Dean wakes up the next morning, he knows it's time to get his shit together. Sam would soon be waking up to the message that Dean had left him last night, but no matter what his reaction was, Dean was done obsessing over it. No more stalking his little brother, no more even thinking about him. He'd made the effort to get to Stanford and from now on he was going to stop treating it like another undercover job and take it seriously.

He's just picking up _King Lear _when his phone goes off and he feels a brief flare of adrenalin, thinking it might be Sam. It's not, it's Paul the mechanic calling to let him know that the new paint is in for Baby. He makes the quick drive over and gets in some reading while he's waiting for Paul to finish with Baby. Normally, he prefers to work on her himself, but this isn't his garage and needs to study anyways. It would be too easy to let himself get caught up with the Impala and put off what he'd just resolved to get done. Once he gets into it, he finds the noises of the garage, instead of being distracting, actually seem to be helping him concentrate and by the time Paul calls over to him that he's finished, Dean has gotten most of the way through the act.

"All finished kid" Paul tells him, "and a pleasure to work on."

"Thanks" Dean answers, then pauses, considering. "Hey, I was wondering if I could ask you a favour. I know it's a little weird, but do you think it would be okay if I came over here to study once in a while?"

Paul looks at him steadily and Dean wonders if he's thinking about what kind of loser doesn't have friends to study with like a normal person, but finally he answers. "Sure thing, I guess that wouldn't be a problem."

* * *

Sam did call him eventually, on Sunday evening, almost 48 hours after hours after their confrontation.

"Hello?" Dean answered, going for casual.

"Dean?" Sam answers, "I found the papers you left for me and, umm, I guess we should talk."

Dean can picture Sam in his room right now with his forehead crinkled and his hair in his eyes. "And what is it you want to talk about, Sam?"

"Listen, I know I was a jerk the other night, but I'm just trying to understand. I thought you'd always struggled with school."

"No, you assumed I was no good in school because I didn't go around entering science fairs or pinning my report cards to the mini-fridge. I had better things to do. I had to look after you. Now, you've made it quite clear that you don't want me to look after you anymore, so why shouldn't I take some time for myself now."

There's a long pause before Sam starts talking again. "I'm sorry. I just wanted out so badly, but it was never you that I was trying to get away from."

"Yeah, well, could've fooled me."

"Look" says Sam brightening like he does every time an idea comes to him. "Why don't you come over tomorrow night. Brady and I are going to work on King Lear and it might be helpful to study with other people."

"I don't know Sam."

"They'll be beer?" Sam suggests hopefully.

Dean pauses, thinking. He should be jumping at this chance. After all, the reason he'd come here was to get Sam back and now it's finally working. On the other hand, he was actually starting to appreciate being here for other reasons and should he really forgive Sam that easily? Dean laughs inwardly at himself at that thought. Of course he'll always forgive Sam.

"Okay," he answers, "I'll come for the beer."


	6. Chapter 6

When Dean actually shows up at Sam's tiny dorm room the next evening, he's greeted enthusiastically by Brady. "Dude, there you are" he says handing Dean a beer, "you have got to explain your brother to me. Like, what is up with his hoarding salt?"

Dean grins, glad that Sam is still taking some precautions. "I don't know what to tell you, he's always been a freak."

"Ha ha" says Sam himself, glaring at them both. "Now, are we going to study or what?"

An hour and a half later, Dean is sitting on the floor with his legs stretched out, leaning against Sam's bed. "I know you what you are, and like a sister am most loath to call your faults as they are named" he reads aloud.

Brady nods along contemplatively from where he's sitting in the corner on a beanbag of all things. "Awesome" he says, yawning, "I think we might be done for the night guys."

"Finally," Dean exclaims and tosses his book lazily across the room.

Sam snorts from where he's sitting across from Dean. "You were getting it though."

Dean shrugs. Sam was right, it is helpful to have people to talk things through with. Sure, it's a little embarrassing to have to have things explained to you by your little brother, but mostly, it's been a good night.

Dean retrieves King Lear from where it landed on Sam's desk and spots one of the other books sitting there. "Sam, you're taking stats?"

"Yeah, we both are. It sucks."

Dean flips through the text; it's similar to, but slightly more basic, than his engineering statistics class.

"Maybe we should focus on that next time, then. I might be able to help you out."

"Ugh, yes please" groans Brady, "math is the worst."

Sam looks slightly skeptical but smiles anyways. "I guess I'd better buy more beer then."

* * *

Studying at Sam's place quickly becomes a regular thing. They help him with English and he helps them with statistics. It isn't long before Brady, who seems to know everyone, starts inviting other people over. One night he brings a tall blonde woman named Jessica, and Dean watches in amusement as Sam tries not to stare at her all night. Between studying with Sam and studying at the Garage, Dean manages to pass his English midterm and is getting A's in all his other classes.

In early November, he finds himself staring at the Summer Research Grant application, trying to decide what to do. His grades are good enough and his prof even pulled him aside the week before to ask if he was planning to apply. Actually doing it though would suggest a level of permanence to this whole student thing that he's not sure he's ready to commit to. Sighing, he crumples up the papers and throws them against the wall. Sam is going to kill him.


	7. Chapter 7

Finals come, inevitably, as they always do and studying intensifies. The mood at the study group becomes considerably more frantic and as the English exam approaches, Dean's nerves become more and more frayed. It's ridiculous, he tells himself. He doesn't feel this nervous before he faces down a werewolf or a ghost and the stupid exam doesn't really matter anyways, but he still feels like it does.

All too soon Dean finds himself, sitting at a desk, in the gym, with a thousand other students, frenetically writing as fast as he can, trying to finish his third essay question before the clock runs down. His other exams are already done and this is the last stage of the marathon. He closes out his last sentence just as the timer goes off. No time for editing; he'll just have to hope it's been enough. Dean rubs at his graphite stained right hand, trying to work out the kinks that have come on after hours of writing. The faint pain reminds him of when he was first learning to use a gun and his hands were barely big enough to hold it.

Dean looks behind him and sees his brother smiling back. Since the class was seated in alphabetical order for the exam, Sam had been directly behind him the whole time. He'd kept having to fight the urge to turn around in his desk and say something and now that he finally can, he doesn't have anything to say. He's struck by how happy Sam looks, in his element, and safe.

"What?" Sam asks and Dean realizes he must have been staring.

"Nothing. I was just thinking that I'm glad you're here."

Sam's smile gets even wider, "I'm glad you're here too" he says completely misunderstanding. Dean hadn't meant that he was glad Sam was here with him, he'd meant that he was glad Sam was here period. He had been so angry when Sam had left, and he still doesn't approve of the way he did it, but now he thinks that maybe he understands why he did it. He had thought that Sam was being selfish, abandoning his family like that, but now he realizes it was them who were being selfish to try and keep him to themselves.

"So, time to go celebrate?" Sam asks.

"Hell yeah."

* * *

Every student union building in the world has a pub attached to it and Stanford is no exception. It's a place to get cheap drinks and to celebrate your victories or drown your sorrows. It's where Sam, Dean, Brady, Jess and dozens of other people head straight after the exam.

Sam circulates the room, amazed at how many of the people there he knows. He left for Stanford hoping for a new life, but he never imagined it would turn out this well. He never imagined he'd get to keep Dean too. He remembers how amazed he was the first time he'd sat down with his brother to go through his stats text. The way Dean's mind had been able to intuitively grasp even the most difficult equations and pull the answers seemingly out of thin air had amazed him. How could he have lived with him for eighteen years and never realized that his brother was a genius? Sam feels a surge of anger towards their father for stifling Dean's potential all this time. Clearly, Dean is meant to be a world-leading engineer or mathematician of some kind and because of the shitty way they were raised he almost wasted his life getting beat up by monsters. Still, things worked out in the end.

Feeling bubbly with happiness and alcohol, Sam looks around, finds Dean over by the bar, and makes his way over.

"Hey, Sam" Dean greets him, "so are you planning on making a move on Jessica tonight finally, cause we're all getting tired of waiting."

Sam laughs, maybe he will, everything seems possible tonight. "Speaking of waiting, when are you going to find out about that summer internship thing."

Dean's expression quickly goes blank, "I didn't apply" he tells Sam.

"What?" Sam practically spits out his beer, "but I thought your prof specifically asked you to?"

"He did but . . . I didn't want to tell you this way."

"Tell me what?" Sam asks, not liking the way this conversation is heading.

"Let's go outside."

Sam trails after his brother, growing more and more wary, as they make their way through the sea of celebrating students. As soon as they step out the door, it's like the volume of the world has been cranked way down and Sam feels himself become almost sober again. "What is it you have to tell me?" he demands.

Dean pauses for a long moment, but not long enough, because as soon as he speaks, Sam wishes he hadn't. "I'm leaving Sam."

"What do you mean you're leaving?"

"I'm leaving Stanford. I've finished out the semester and I'm not registered for anything next term."

"Where are you going?" Sam asks, desperately hoping that the answer isn't what he thinks it is.

"Wherever the next hunt takes me. I've loved being here, I really have. I felt like for the first time, people expected me to become something more than just a dumb grunt, but I've wasted enough time and now I need to get back to my real life."

"Why can't this be your life, Dean? You're a genius; you deserve to be here."

"I've waited so long to hear you say that, but as much as I love it here, I love hunting more. It's what I was meant for, Sam. It's where I can make a difference."

"So, that's it then, we're not even going to talk about this?" Sam's brain tries to head into lawyer mode, desperate to come up with the perfect argument that will make Dean stay.

"My choice, little brother. Just like this was your choice and I'm so glad that I got to share it with you for a little while. Please don't hate me now."

"You're making a mistake."

"I know you think so, but this is what I have to do. Goodbye Sam."

* * *

(Ending One)

Dean packs up the Impala the next morning, he's got a possible ghost in Omaha to check out and a long drive ahead of him. He loads up the weapons, his duffle full of clothes, and pauses over his pile of physics textbooks. He could drop by the university bookstore and sell them for a few bucks. It's not like he needs them anymore, but what the hell, he might get really bored some night if the cables not working. He picks them up and deposits them into the trunk. As he heads east and out of town, he doesn't know that it'll be almost three years before he sees his brother again.

* * *

Notes: I know this isn't how a lot of you probably wanted this to end, but it's the only thing that felt true to character. At this point in his life, Dean just isn't ready to settle down and be a student.

This was originally intended to be a one shot, so thank you to those of you who encouraged me to write more. Hopefully you weren't disappointed.

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this, consider checking out some of my other fics.

Much love to you all and especially to my fellow Dean girls.


	8. Chapter 8 - Alternate Ending

Author's Note: I really thought that I was done with this fic, but apparently I still had a little bit left to go. I still believe that the original ending I wrote is the most true to Dean's character, but fanfiction, after all, is about exploring alternate possibilities, so here's another possibility.

* * *

(Ending Two)

Dean has one more goodbye to make before he leaves Palo Alto and he doesn't forget to stop by the garage on his way out of town to make it. Paul was the first friend that he'd made after he moved here and Dean knows that he owes the older man a lot. If it hadn't been for Paul's silent encouragement, he probably would have left a lot sooner.

When he steps in, Paul is busy working on an old Bentley but he pulls his head out from under the hood when he hears the bell above the door.

"Dean? Haven't seen you in a few days, kid. How did exams go?"

"Well, it'll still be a few days until I have the official results back, but I'm pretty sure I passed them all, maybe even English."

"Course you did" Paul nods confidently. "What are you here for then? Don't tell me that you've already started studying for next semester."

"Actually, there isn't going to be another semester" Dean says, shrugging. "I'm here to say goodbye."

"And why's that?" Paul asks, looking confused.

"What's the point in staying? All people see when they look at me is dumb hick" he says bitterly. "No one's ever going to take me seriously in a town like this and you know what? Screw them. I have more important things to do anyway."

Paul looks sad for a moment and opens his mouth, probably to try and say something comforting but before he can, the owner of the Bentley interrupts them from where she's been sitting reading a magazine.

"If you really want to screw them, you should stay here and show them exactly what a dumb hick can do" she says in a strong rural Southern accent. Dean turns around to see his English professor and almost does a double take. She sounds completely different without the posh, high-class voice she uses in class.

"Whatever you think you've got to do; nothing is more important than expanding the limits of human knowledge. And by the way" Professor Stromwell adds as she collects her keys, "you did pass English."

* * *

Dean spends the next few days emailing professors, begging them to allow him to register for their classes late. Almost all of them agree and soon he's got enough courses to fill his Spring semester. It's too late to apply for a Summer internship, but there will be other opportunities. Besides, he's heard a few rumours that Professor Callahan is a bit of a creep anyway.

Maybe, he can take some time off school over the summer and get in a few hunts. Afterall, Clark Kent has a day job. Maybe he really can have it all.


End file.
